


Amulet

by Monochrome_Eyes



Series: To you, 500 years from now [1]
Category: Amulet (Graphic Novels)
Genre: All of these are full of assumptions, An aftermath basically, Gen, I'm so sorry, Lots and lost of OCs, OCs - Freeform, Original cast are mentioned, Theories, This is set 500-something after the war, and made-up stuff not appearing in canon, fuck I should stop making series, in other words the people here are descendants of min characters, probably, this story details what had happened during the Great War through current generaion, will abandon this, will contain HC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 23:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12593156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monochrome_Eyes/pseuds/Monochrome_Eyes
Summary: "You can be surprised on how one tiny action will matter in a thousand years," Dante said, "like how much damage 50 years can inflict for 500 more."What had happened after the War.





	Amulet

Emrys has never been outside the village, where the world is a distant picture within the pages of books, remaining particularly an unknown and potentially dangerous territory he isn’t sure he could be able to survive in. He huddles nervously behind the shrubs, hands gripping the straps of the bag his grandmother has passed down unto him, breathe thankfully unseen in the cool air thanks to the mask covering half of his face; one has to build up courage after all, before embarking on a journey he may or may not return from.

But he _has_ to, if his Grand Uncle Lu warned anything, they _can’t_ keep him here forever, he has to go eventually. They mustn’t prevent him from what is inevitable. Even if it means never seeing them again, even if he has to leave the safety of the village, and learn to actually wield this mysterious power he has yet to understand.

Rising his head above the shrubs enough to see the horizon and the loading ship soon to embark, he cautiously reaches out a hand, laying it flat against the sky to check how much more minutes until sundown based on the number of fingers between the sun and the flat sea. Two fingers, one digit approximately 15 minutes; around 30 more minutes to wait before the ship headed towards Lucien waters depart, and the shadows to appear. Emrys quickly retracts his hand and disappear again within the leaves; the lamplighters always light this area last, so if he wants to prevent from being possessed, he will have to create the firelight potion _now_. He scrambles quietly to remove the bag from his bag, careful to not make any noise but quick enough for him to retrieve a few vials he needed, the various glasses clinking.

Hands shaking form both cold and anxiety, he tries to think back on how this all started, a few months ago on one of the many streams of this island; he has done this potion many times, he might as well be going through the motions, mind on autopilot on how much of this and that to mix.

 

He closes his eyes.

* * *

 

 

 

 

Emrys just left to fish on that day, traversing unto the grassy and rocky terrain of the island. They may live near a pond, yes, there are several streams as well but if you live in such a peaceful place everything will just get… Boring. Very monotonous, to the point of asceticism; that’d be enough to drive anyone insane.

And yet _somehow_ , the elders and youths of the village manage to live the same lives on repeat, even his grandmother _and_ grand uncle. Although, he admits Grand Uncle Lu is justified; he was a former soldier after all, one of the few unlucky enough to fight in the Great War. It is understandable he would want some peace.

Peace also means nothing significant happens. From what Emrys could remember, the last family feud has happened centuries ago, there was no problem of drought, or food shortage; in fact, there was barely any problem at all because even after few millennia, the village had very few changes. Their way of living barely has any difference as it was in the past, and he thinks of this as unfortunate, others think otherwise.

Nothing exciting happens.

Yet he wishes so, throwing a rock on the stream beside him, skipping across the water a few times before sinking below. His feet follow the water, hoping for a change in the game, a challenge even. He shifts his fishing rod on his shoulder, I will have to wait.

Frankly, there is a lot of things he could’ve done that day; go shrimping alongside the other kids his age, plants some food into the garden islands, change the filters in the small dams, row around the peaceful lakes or rivers, hike the rocky and cold mountains, tend to the grassgoats, help his Grand Uncle Lu in cooking or collect some more ingredients for grandma’s chemistry, and his most favourite activity of all, to visit the massive library to read.

Yet, on this day, none of them seemed appealing, to his displeasure. And neither is fishing for fish for dinner, but what else is he going to do? His guardians allowed him to go off, wishing him luck and even his Grand Uncle Lu joking to at least ‘find some treasure for him to keep’. Hah. As if one can. In this isolated island.

(The white pawn moves.)

Emrys stands knee-deep unto the stream for longer distance to the deeper part of the cool waters, the floater bobbing on its surface. He has caught several fishes, but he lets go of the little ones, leaving him two large catches and one more to go. A fisherman has to be patient, and learn to be aware at all times, thus when the bright floater immediately sank, Emrys has already reeled in his line and finished his task. He unhooks his fish and drops it in the bucket of water along with the rest. It is better fresh, and he doesn’t think he can recover fast if he catches a whiff of the stench.

Now that he is out of the water he then realizes how early it still was, the sun glaring above him indicates it is afternoon, but the great amass of trees and coldness still makes him produce clouds of breathe. It may be summer, but the hottest it has ever been was 23° (Celsius. 73.4° Fahrenheit to you American savages), and that was years ago. What else is he going to fill the day with? He has already finished chores, he might as well waste time wallowing in the shallows doing nothing and thinking about anything.

The water laps against his exposed legs gently, quite icy but to a local like he is something you get used to. His fishing rod lies beside him, having done its job and the bucket of fishes as well as boots on his other one although it isn’t going anywhere. There aren’t exactly any mischievous prank-doers who are going to steal his labour. The little sunlight that manages to pass through the thick canopy gives off pleasant warmth on his body, the grass soft (not prickly unlike some areas) underneath him and the grove has a pleasant smell of earth and petrichor, and the serenity of it all lulls him into a sleep, the trickling water as his lullaby.

 

 

 

 

 

By the time he wakes up, it was nearing dusk, and he practically jumps to his feet; he has a few minutes before shadows appear and his guardians are probably worried sick with Grand Uncle probably tearing chunks of his hair (not that any remains on top, but still…). Hastily grabbing his things while berating himself for carelessness, he breaks into a run. The fishes be damned, it is fine for him if he just have some soup and his guardians would understand; safety first, food later.

Rather than running alongside the bank, he splashes unto the stream; the farther away he is from the dark trees the better, nervousness now seeping unto him as he sees the orange light rapidly disappears. Once again he berates himself; out of all the days he could _forget_ the potion and didn’t _bother_ to bring any ingredients with him why did it had to be the day he would come home late?

The light on the stream is gone. Oh no.

When he feels a shiver run through him as he can feel _them_ appear from the dark, icy-cold like a corpse does he sprint away. _Shadows_.

Emrys starts to panic, he can’t see them, no, he _daren’t_ see them behind him as he can feel more frigid by the second. He is losing feeling in his feet and energy in his run but he forces them not to slow down. If he made even one misstep he would be lost to the shadows forever, wisps closing on him rapidly. He _has_ to make it, he _needs_ to make it, he can’t make it, not unless he has something bright and that’s not his eyes. _Please_ , he begs to anyone in particular, despair clinging to him like a heavy blanket, _please let me near the light, the road, the lamplighters should be lighting it now._

In the distance, his glowing eyes can see a few lights and his heart nearly bursts; he was close, only a few meters more to safety!

But then he can feel something soft yet so so so dangerous (run, _run_ , **_RUN_**!!) brushes against his shoulder that he realizes he may not make it.

 _Light_ , he thinks desperately as his eyes darts everywhere for materials _, I need light, I need light, anything_  ̶  

 His eyes catches unto something _glowing_ underneath the waters, a _luminoslug_ , _a fallen lam_ p, he doesn’t care because it _glows_ , it glows very brightly it might just save his life thus he grabs it and shines it behind him.

 

 

 

He wasn’t expecting a flash.

But it does, whatever smooth and round he just grabbed glowed so _brightly that_ in an instant it drove away the shadows, buying the very few precious seconds he needs to jump out of the stream, crash through the shrubs and painful rocks and unto the  ̶

“Whoa!!” The Elven driver rears back his boulderboar, which squealed, to keep himself from running over Emrys with his carriage. “What in the Erlking’s name ‘re ya doin’?!”

Emrys nearly falls over from the shock, if he wasn’t possessed by the shadows, he would’ve been run over by a rider, but out of sheer dumb luck he somehow managed to get out of both disastrous situations alive. Panting heavily, he leans his hands on his knees, exhausted but still very much jittery from the horror. To his surprise, he still has his bucket of fishes and boots but lost his fishing rod in the favour of grabbing that glowing… Rock, now he has concluded, feeling it round, smooth, cold, and wet in his frigid fist. He looks behind him, now that he is on a lit road, the shadows no longer bother to follow him, driven away by the light. The Elven boy evidently sags in relief; he is now safe.

“S-sorry about that, mister…” he pants, putting his aching body upright in respect of his savior. “I accidentally slept in ‘til dusk and… And shadows chased me. You really saved me there, mr. Ziven.”

Mr. Ziven’s eyebrows shoot up in horror. “By jove, y’could’ve been possessed! What were you thinkin’, letting your guard down like that?! Y’hurt?”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine, mister, thank you. I owe you a lot.”

The lamplighter just grunts, “Y’don’t owe me your life. If anything, I would’ve run you over had we both not stop in time.” He observes the dark forest, back in the day they would’ve looked welcoming, peaceful, but now they were hostile and perilous. “Get yourself back here and I’ll give you a ride back into your house, it ain’t safe going home alone after something terrible and as close like that happened. And don’t worry, I’ve finished lightin’ the area so we should be fine.”

Emrys thanks him once again, climbing unto the carriage. He plunks down the bucket as they start to move, putting on his boots despite his damp feet but he is too tired to care. Easing himself unto the sturdy wood, he lets himself rest for a few minutes before observing the thing that saved his life.

It was odd.

Now that there aren’t any other pressing issues unto his mind, this, this object actually confused him. It was a stone with a blue hue, with wavy indentations and a dot on both ends of the ellipse fused into the brownish-yellow metal with a small piece jutting out. Perhaps, to tie a string? Is this meant to be worn? The most intriguing detail about it is that it _glows_.

There is something that echoes from the recesses of his dazed mind but feeling too achy and sore to recall. That’s fine, he could figure it out tomorrow. What matters is that he is alive, not slave to some parasitic gas or torn into pieces, he has fish for dinner, he may lost his fishing rod but he can always make another one, he is going home where all he has to do is to weather the lecture and guilt from their worry before he will be allowed to eat, then wash the dishes, and to bed. This day will hopefully bring him no more trouble.

“Mr. Ziven,” he calls, and the lamplighter turns around to look at him. “Do you have any string or ribbon that is hopefully a bit lengthy?”

“Hn, allow me to check…” He rummages his pockets, bringing out a container of cinder ash, a few matches, and even his pipe. Kudos to him not asking questions. The lamplighter then triumphantly produces two thin ropes, one of hemp, one of black cotton. Emrys thanks him before picking the latter, he expertly ties the cord into the stone so he could wear it. He observes its design one last time before he tucks it away underneath his brown wool vest. He could surprise his grand uncle later.

Mr. Ziven announces they are nearing his house when he perks up; a few more paces and he will be close enough to walk down to Grand Uncle Lu’s house, which is at the end of the pond. It was inherited from his uncle, Emrys’s great grand uncle, when he passed away, although the boy lives with his grandmother at their ancestral home, which is at the other end. He decides he could show himself in his grand uncle’s house because grandma is likely there anyways, thus he thanks Mr. Ziven for the fourth time that evening and treks towards the cottage, the lamplighter waving goodbye.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emrys prepares himself for an incredibly long sermon, taking a deep breath and before he could knock, the door already, clamping him quickly within a tight hug.

 

“Emrys!” his grand uncle cries in relief, “I thought something befell you! What happened? What took you so long? Are you hurt?” Grand Uncle Lu pulls back, his hands on his grand-nephew’s shoulders in concern.

 

“Uhm.. To explain… I fell asleep after I fished and woke up to dusk  ̶  “

 

“Dusk! Did shadows chase you?!” He asks in horror and Emrys wants to smack himself for making him worry; of course, his grand uncle may be over a thousand years old but he is still sharp. Grand Uncle Lu immediately takes him inside the cottage and sits him down before locking the door.

 

“Er, yes. But it is obvious I managed to evade them, uncle, thanks to mr. Ziven.” He tries to mitigate the damage by explaining the story quickly. “I’ll pay him back tomorrow.”

 

The elderly Elf visibly sagged in relief. “I’m glad, my goodness Emrys, we’ve been worried terribly! When you weren’t here when it was sunset, your grandmother took off to question the others where you are. I tried to look for you in your frequent fishing spots but you weren’t there.”

 

Guilt squirmed in his gut. “I’m sorry uncle, I decided to go to a different spot for a change.”

 

“Now, now,” he waves his hand, “what matter is you’re here and unharmed, although your grandmother might say otherwise. Rest now while I’ll prepare dinner and tea. We’ll talk about this later.” Taking the bucket from Emrys’s hand, he quickly hobbles off to the squealing kettle, setting it aside from the fire. He then expertly cleans and cuts the fishes, adding them to the soup. Although ancient, his skills in cooking remain unrivaled nor obsolete. A proof of why age has no bearing on ability.

 

This scene is familiar and routine, and soon Emrys can slowly feel the horror from before ease to the back of his mind, like a nightmare. He waits on the table for the food, relaxing for a few minutes before calling, “Uncle Lu?”

 

“Hm?” He acknowledges absentmindedly as he tastes the food, adding more seasoning after he does.

 

“Remember when you said to find a treasure and keep it?” He asks, retrieving the stone underneath his vest.

 

“My, did you find one?” Emrys can hear the smile in his voice.

 

“Yes,” he confirms, “and it saved my life.”

 

“Oh? Let’s see it then.” He covers the pot and enters the dining room, smiling proudly and pleasantly that Emrys is fond of the sight.

 

But when he sees the stone, dangling from his hand, his pale, wrinkled face loses what little colour it has left, and that was when Emrys realizes the stone has brought him trouble that will last.

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited. Very fast-paced I know, done it very late at night. Will regret it in morning.


End file.
